Baby's Day Out
by dragonbabezee
Summary: The Briefs go on a family outing to a festival, and Bulma has reason to question her and Vegeta's parenting skills. Written for the Unnatural Lovers/We're Just Saiyan 'Think n Drink' challenge (though I missed the deadline). One shot, Contains some coarse language and dubious child care, rated T - my first ever non-M rated fic!


_Author's Note: So, the challenge was to be inspired by an invent in my life involving alcohol and write a BV story from it, whilst sampling a beverage. My first attempt was terrible and shall never see the light of day. After starting again, I got...this. Ah well, think not less of me!_

* * *

Bulma kept her hand clamped on Vegeta's shoulder as he pushed his way through the sweaty throngs. The baby in the carrier strapped to the front of her was screaming her head off. Bulma turned and glanced back over her shoulder to make sure Trunks was still following. He was nearly fifteen, and in theory she didn't need to worry about him as he was nigh on as indestructible as his father, but he had a streak of independence a mile wide and a knack for finding or making trouble.

'Karma's a bitch,' she mumbled, the sound swallowed by the din of forty thousand malcontent festival-goers.

'In here!' said Vegeta, veering towards a marquee. He was leading them to the closest source of refreshment using his sense of smell. The last two marquees they had visited had sold out of every drink.

Bulma had been trying to earn her 'Cool Mom' badge by bringing her family here. Trunks had recently discovered her music collection; a line up of tortured souls and badass heavy alt rock from twenty to (she shuddered) thirty years ago, and had fallen in love with the same indie icons that she once had. Trunks had quickly restyled himself at school as the expert on all cool, "vintage" music, and was surfing a wave of street cred for it. So when she'd heard that some of her idols of yesteryear were getting back together for a music festival in wine country, she'd had the bright idea to get tickets for them all.

Judging by the way Trunks would immediately put five feet between himself and his parents every time someone near his own age came by, she was not winning on the Cool Mom front. Judging by Bra's flushed skin and inconsolable wailing, she _was _winning on the Most Irresponsible Mom front.

She tugged Bra's sun hat back into place, and the child angrily pushed it right off her head, forcing Bulma to bend down and pick it up. The crowd nearly swept her over before Vegeta hooked her under the armpit and yanked her into the shade of the canvas.

The executive assistant who'd told her about the "Last of the Summer Wine" festival had been in past years and said it was a very chill and family friendly event. Bulma had envisioned gracefully aged veteran musicians playing to a civilised and well-fed crowd, with perhaps a pleasant glass of wine, sipped amongst the grape vines for the grownups. But this year the festival had expanded, booking bigger acts with more promotion, and moved location to the forsaken sheep-nibbled back blocks, miles out from the vineyards. It was under catered and over crowded, neither chilled out or family friendly. Long hair, black jeans, bad attitudes and empty bottles of Jim Beam and cola everywhere, the crowd ranging in age from teen to older than Bulma and really-should-know-better. Some of them looked as shell-shocked and out of place as Bulma felt with an infant strapped to her front, but the rest of them were hell-bent on partying like it was 1999 all over again. The gourmet food vendors were overrun and a lot of them had packed up before lunchtime. She, Vegeta and Trunks had been stuck with eating very un-gourmet corn dogs from a takeaway truck for lunch, and the woman manning the deep fryer had told them that the venue was over-capacity. The people manning the gates suspected that as many as half of the tickets they were taking in were fakes. To complete the misery, it was also hot as hell, and there was no shade besides the overflowing marquee-bars.

The pink baby ear muffs Bulma had brought to protect Bra's hearing had made the poor kid too hot, and she'd long ago hiffed them from the bleachers into a mosh pit with impressive force for a one-year-old. She'd drunk all her milk and juice by lunch time, and when Bulma had started looking for water she'd been stunned to find it sold out of every chip-cart and bar she could find. It was now four in the afternoon, and seemed to only be getting hotter.

Eyes adjusting to the gloom, Bulma followed Vegeta to the back of the tent, Trunks thankfully following. Bulma saw a couple leaving a table abutting the canvas wall, and veered straight for it, dumping herself in the plastic chair before anyone else could claim it. Trunks followed her, but Vegeta made his way directly to the bar. Bulma looked back at him over her shoulder and caught his eye. He nodded to show he understood exactly what was needed, and even through her annoyance and regret over the situation, she felt a little burst of gratitude and appreciation. Vegeta was never going to be the most emotionally supportive husband or father, or even the most present, but he took his family's well-being seriously.

He hadn't been enormously keen on coming to an event with so many humans, but he enjoyed the music almost as much as Bulma. He was never going to show outright enthusiasm for it, but he didn't show disdain, and she'd caught him many times picking the same albums out to listen to while he worked out. When she told him she wanted to take Trunks, and him too, if he was maybe interested, he had said there was no way he was going to let two consummate trouble magnets go to an out-of-town concert without him. It was a thin excuse – he usually had no problems letting his "trouble magnets" go do something without him if he wasn't interested. Still it was nice to imagine he cared to look out for them, and he certainly had today.

She allowed herself a small sigh of admiration for him. With his black leather pants, black tank, and the bulging muscles of his bare arms on display, he looked more at home here than Bulma felt. She'd worn her original Evergloom 'No Saint' Tour t-shirt, but felt about a hundred years old next to the twenty year olds who were buying beers four at a time, and not for sharing.

Bulma unclipped the carrier and took it off, putting Bra in her lap. She plucked the wet fabric of her t-shirt away from her skin to get some air moving in her cleavage, and then decapsulated her baby bag on the table. She reached in one-handed and fished out a wet-wipe to clean up Bra's tear streaked face. She hoped it would cool her down a little too. Bra twisted her face away from the clammy assault, eventually slapping Bulma's hand away in an act of extreme grizzliness.

'Bra!' The child made a serious bid to pitch herself off her lap, and Bulma only just caught her by the legs, upside down before she landed on her head. Bulma saw the woman at the next table give her a look of horror. Bra had the strength and robustness of a much older child and all the mental development of an average one year old, but strangers didn't know that. _Judging, much?_ she felt like saying, and the woman caught her eye and quickly turned away.

Bulma went back through the baby bag for the tenth time that day, in case, by some miracle she had missed a juice carton or third bottle somewhere in there, but it was not to be. _ Oh, why didn't I pack some extra juice or water for Bra in the capsule?_ she berated herself. But she knew why – she could only find the two baby bottles and she had the entirely reasonable expectation that water would be available at the venue_. This is the worst organised event, ever!_

Trunks pulled up the seat next to her and wiped his heavy bangs of purple hair from his brow. It stuck up in sweaty spikes.

'Here, hold your sister,' said Bulma, passing the struggling, screaming baby. He was obviously tired, as even the cool, sceptical blank-face he'd taken to wearing lately was missing. Bulma wanted to roll her eyes whenever she saw her usually enthusiastic son acting in such an exaggeratedly "cool" manner, and hoped it was just a phase. However, given Vegeta's aloof public manner, maybe Trunks was only mirroring his father.

'Wawa!' screamed Bra. 'Mama, wawa!'

'I hope they have water, too,' agreed Trunks, which to Bulma was a sign that he was seriously thirsty. He usually asked for soda or sports water over plain water. Then he made a face of disgust. She followed his gaze to the far side of the tent, where a teenaged girl was bending over in her seat, vomiting onto her shoes while her friends jumped up and hovered, drunkenly indecisive of how to handle the situation. Action came in the form of a security guard, wading through from the bar where he'd been busy checking wristbands in the queue. He spoke into a walkie talkie, then to the kids, some of whom were surely too young to be drinking. Evidently they were, because when another security guard turned up, the first dragged the spewing girl to her feet by her elbows and the second began moving the kids on, forcing them to leave their unfinished drinks on the table while they argued.

Bulma rested her arms on the table for a moment, then allowed her head to sink onto them. _Make this day end_, she pleaded vainly to Dende. _Send a cool mountain breeze, rain, a thunderstorm, anything_.

Vegeta returned instead, plonking a four pack of something tall and cold before her. Trunks and Bulma both reached for one, and she pulled hers out of the cardboard holder before her frazzled brain even had time to register the label.

'Guinness?' she said, looking enquiringly at Vegeta. He was more of a pilsner guy, and though she was hot and thirsty enough to drink about anything at that moment, he must have gotten something else for Trunks and Bra. Trunks popped the tab on the top of the can, and Bulma reached out and stopped it on the way to his mouth just in time. 'Woah, not for you, buddy. Did you get any water or juice, Vegeta?'

Vegeta's frown was even deeper than normal. 'No. They were out.'

'_What?_ What about sodas? Or…I dunno, milk?'

Vegeta gave her a flat look of displeasure at her questioning of his intelligence. 'No. It was either this or Bourbon and cola. Which would you prefer?'

'_Fuck_,' breathed Bulma under her breath. She let go of Trunks's can and looked around to make sure no one was watching them, or to perhaps spy rogue bottles of water.

'What am I going to drink, then?' asked Trunks. 'I'm so thirsty!'

Bulma was too. She itched to open her own can and start chugga-lugging, but that wouldn't be fair to force Trunks to watch her slake her thirst while he couldn't.

'Drink the beer; that's what I bought it for,' said Vegeta, and Bulma's head snapped around to stare at her husband. She leant forward to hiss quietly at him.

'That's _illegal_, and you know it.'

'The boy is nearly full size, and he's half Saiyan! The law was not written with him in mind, and it is only _one_ beer.'

'"Only one beer" doesn't matter if someone recognises Bulma Briefs giving her son alcohol!'

Vegeta narrowed his eyes and snorted in laughter. 'Get over yourself. No one's looked twice at you all day.'

'Thanks a bunch, asshole!' she said, registering on some level that he was teasing her, but she was just too hot and tired to take a joke.

He growled softly at her in return. 'Calm down! Maybe we should leave now if you're so concerned?'

'No!' said Trunks behind her. 'Evergloom are playing in half an hour!'

Bulma didn't want to leave yet either. Evergloom had also been _her_ favourite band back in the day, and were half her reason for buying them all tickets. She looked back toward Trunks. He looked desperate and put the can back on the table.

'We can't go yet!' he said. 'I'll go without a drink.'

Bulma considered her options. He was nearly fifteen, and a single beer wouldn't hurt him…as long as security or some sticky-beak didn't catch them giving it to him.

'Don't be silly, Trunks,' she said. 'Swap seats with me.'

Puzzled, Trunks stood up with Bra still in his arms and they swapped seats. With Trunks facing the wall of the tent and his parents sitting either side, screening him as much as possible from view, Bulma gave him his can back.

'Don't think we're going to make a habit of this,' she warned.

Looking delighted, Trunks lifted the can to his face and took a long draught, his expression immediately turning puzzled, then faintly revolted.

'Yeah?' she prompted him.

'Doesn't taste like how I thought it would,' said Trunks. He took another swig and grimaced and Bulma couldn't help smirking. She quickly opened her own can, downing the bitter milkiness. Guinness was not the most quenching of drinks, but on this occasion just its coldness and liquidness sent her into deep satisfaction. _Guinness had never tasted so good! _She gulped and gulped, downing half the can in one go, then immediately regretted doing so as a massive belch raced back up, getting stuck in her throat before letting rip in a very indiscrete way.

'Holy cow, Mom!' sniggered Trunks

'Excuse me,' she said daintily, and Vegeta laughed.

Trunks sipped again, but Bra let out an angry squawk of complaint, sitting tall in his lap to grab the can from him, making him slosh beer down his front and on her.

'Wawa!'

'Bra!'

Vegeta swiftly took the red faced little girl from him and locked her securely against him with one arm and bounced her on his knee while he drank more of his own beer. Bulma had the same thought at the same time as she caught Vegeta's eye. What was Bra going to drink?

'We're not giving the baby Guinness,' she said.

'I thought this beer was touted as some kind of nutritional super-draught,' he said.

Bulma blinked in surprise. 'I don't know where you picked up that titbit of dietary advice, but it's at least fifty years out of date!' she said. 'It's generally accepted these days that you don't give beer to infants!'

'In that case we need to leave very soon,' said Vegeta. 'She's running hot.'

Vegeta's heightened and sixth senses that gave him an insight into their children's state of being that made herself, a (reasonably) attentive mother look clueless and feel jealous, but it was useful at times.

Bulma moaned in defeat.

'Mom!' said Trunks again. 'Please! The festival goes to midnight – it's only half way through, we can't go now!'

'Trunks, we always said that we wouldn't stay later than eight o'clock, anyway!' she said with irritation. 'We've got to get your sister home to bed.'

'But it's only _four_ o'clock now!'

'Plans change.'

Trunks glowered and mumbled something that sounded like, 'Why'd you even bring the baby, then?' which Bulma pretended she didn't hear, because she had already asked herself the same question about a dozen times already. Vegeta heard though.

'Watch it, brat!'

'It's a forty five minute walk back to the air strip where we parked the hoverjet,' she reminded Vegeta. 'We'd have to go now.'

'I could take Bra and fly,' offered Vegeta.

'That's a last resort,' said Bulma. 'We're only a few miles from a Royal Airforce Base – if you get pinged in military air space again, they're going to try to tag you! You remember what that Commander said - that was such a mess last time.'

'We're not in West City,' he reminded her. 'They'll have no idea who I am, and they'll never catch me anyway.'

'It's a _last resort_,' she insisted. 'Maybe you should take Bra now and wait at the hoverjet. I'm sure there must be a bottle of water on board there somewhere.'

'What will you be doing?'

'Trunks and I will stay for Evergloom, then catch you up.'

'Yes, please!' said Trunks. 'Please, Papa!'

'Alright,' grumbled Vegeta, shifting Bra from his knee to his arm. Bra hung from his arm limply though, emitting dry sobs of hopelessness, and Bulma was alarmed. She'd never seen Bra act like this, except for the one time she'd been properly ill.

'Baby?'

As Bulma watched, Bra cried so hard that she gagged, heaving but bringing nothing up.

'Oh, baby!' Bulma cried, leaning across to touch her hot cheek.

'She needs something now!' said Vegeta, unnecessarily.

Bulma stood up, kicking her chair backwards, fear for her child beating the call to arms in her chest. 'Momma's going to find you something to drink right away! There must be _something_ here!'

She pushed her way back to the bar, jumping the queue (as it was an emergency), ignoring the protest of the woman at the head of the queue.

'Please, do you have any water or any non-alcoholic-'

'Back of the queue is that way!' said the sweaty, fat man behind the counter.

'I know,' said Bulma, 'but this is for my daughter, she's overheating-'

'Yeah, we all are.'

'My baby has heat exhaustion!' she yelled.

'And we don't have nothing but bourbon and cola or stout!' he yelled right back.

Bulma staggered backwards from his temper, but she didn't have time to repay in kind just now. She whirled and began walking though the marquee, eyes scanning for water. It didn't take her long to spy a plastic bottle of spring water in the hands of a young woman. She rushed up to the table that she and her friends were talking at and cut in to their conversation.

'Hi, you look like a helpful person,' she said to the girl. The girl was all in black, with maroon dyed hair and racoon eyes from her heavy eye make-up, and she squinted back at Bulma woozily.

'I do?' she asked.

'Yes. I see you have some water there, and the thing is, my baby is getting sick from the heat and we can't find any water for sale anywhere. If I could have the rest of your water, I'd give you a thousand zeni for it!'

The girl and her friends gasped. 'A thousand zeni!' she said leaning towards Bulma. 'I'd love to help you out, but _this is actually vodka!_' she finished in a stage whisper.

Bulma could smell her breath. She wasn't lying.

'Damn.'

Bulma stood up and looked for another candidate. She saw the end of another water bottle go up, and ran between the tables. A woman in a tight tank top with sleeves of tattoos was sitting at a table with a bunch of hairy, burly men who looked like the type who would have intimidated her once upon a time. She saw that nearly all the water was gone as the woman sucked it down and she yelled out, 'Don't finish that!' knocking into their table in her haste, setting all the drinks on it toppling. The men roared with anger and tried to snatch their bottles and cans up before they lost too much beverage, and the woman stopped drinking and stared at her in astonishment.

'Why?' she said. 'You're that bitch that cut in line!'

Too late, Bulma realised that this was the woman she'd stepped in front of. 'Look, sorry about that, but I really need some water –'

'Wow, you are some special kind of selfish!' said the woman. 'It's my fucking water and I get to drink it if I want to.' Then she tipped her head back and downed the rest to spite Bulma.

'It was for my baby!' screamed Bulma.

The woman retorted with, 'What kind of mother brings her baby to a concert like this?'

This was a verbal slap in the face, but Bulma had a defence. 'I didn't know it was going to be sweltering, oversold and full of assholes, did I?'

The men around the table man sucked air in through their teeth at this.

'Did you just call me an asshole?' said the woman, standing up.

Bulma really did feel like taking a swing at this woman, but she didn't have enough time right now for a catfight.

'Forget it!' she said, wheeling away. Spying an empty chair she had an idea – rather than approach every person who might have some water, she would address the whole crowd. She stepped up onto the chair. A few people looked up at her, their attention caught by that alone, but the noise inside the tent continued unabated.

'Excuse me!' she shouted. 'EXCUSE ME!' Some more people looked up. 'EXCUSE ME, SHUT UP EVERYONE! SHUT UUUUUUUP!' Finally, most of the conversation in the tent died down. 'Sorry, but I have an urgent request! If anyone has any - Wah!'

Suddenly she was dragged down off the chair from behind and she stumbled to her knees before being hauled up again and spun to face the bad tempered security guard she'd last seen escorting the drunk girl away. He was red in the face, sweat stains framing his beer gut and the security badge hanging around his neck.

'Right, Missy,' he said. 'You've had rather too much to drink! I'm taking you to the chill-out tent to cool off.'

'I haven't had anything to drink!' she said, jerking her arm from his grasp.

'Haven't you?' he said, with a nod at the can of Guinness still in her hand. She hadn't noticed that she'd taken it with her from their table.

'I've had _hardly anything_ to drink!' she revised.

'I don't care if it's booze or drugs or mental retardation; you're causing a disruption! Come on, now.'

'I'm trying to get water for my baby!' she said, stepping back, but she bumped into the woman who she'd called an asshole, and found herself shoved back into the guard's hands.

'This skank cut in line and then followed me back to my table to insult me!' the woman said.

'I did not!' refuted Bulma, turning to argue her case, but the guard caught her arm and twisted it up behind her back. She squealed, bending forwards to get away from the pressure that felt like it would tear her tendons. 'What the hell are you doing?' she screamed.

'Taking you to the chill-out tent to talk to the police!' said the guard, and she felt him push her forwards towards the open awning of the marquee, hunched over with her arm at a painful angle. The other punters looked on in morbid fascination as she was frog marched past.

'This is insane!' she spluttered. 'Do you have any idea who I am?'

'No, but self-entitled drunks are my favourite kind of drunks,' offered the guard.

Before she got to the door though, Bulma's way was blocked by Vegeta's belt buckle. She tried to look up, but in this position she couldn't see past his folded arms.

'I will take it from here, officer,' he said in his gruff and slightly menacing tone.

'Who are you?'

'Her husband.'

The guard hesitated, but Bulma was let out of the arm lock and able to stand straight again.

'I don't want any more trouble, now,' he said gently.

'There won't be any more trouble if you let my wife go,' said Vegeta.

'Now…your wife was being very disruptive, which is why I was only doing my job of taking her down to the chill-out tent. I've got a colleague just on the door there, and he can be here any second I need him.'

'I'm very happy for you,' said Vegeta, totally po faced. 'But I am taking her home. Now.'

'Right then,' said the guard, and he released her arms completely. She jumped away and scowled at the beer-bellied middle aged man with the unenviable job. 'Do that. Just get her out of here. I don't want to see either of you back in here.'

Vegeta led her hurriedly out of the tent, while Bulma muttered under her breath, on the verge of breathing fire at the gawkers. '_Fucking a-holes, the whole fucking lot of them, for fuck's sake!_' When they were halfway out of the door though she fully remembered her reason for causing the "disruption".

'Vegeta, where are the kids?'

'Here.' He led her past the end of the marquee and down the gap between its neighbour, past the noisy generator and empty kegs to the shade of the tent. Trunks sat on the grass holding the inconsolable Bra between his knees, tent pegs strewn about him and one full and a couple of half empty Guinness cans next to him. Evidently he had short-cutted under the edge of the tent.

'Mom, you got arrested!' he said, in awe.

'I wasn't arrested,' she explained. 'He was a security guard, not a police officer.'

'Either way, it was cool!'

'It wasn't…' She sighed. Well, she'd wanted her Cool Mom badge, didn't she?

Bulma and Vegeta squatted down beside him on the grass.

'I still didn't manage to get anything for Bra,' she said, feeling terrible about it.

'Where's her bottle?' asked Vegeta. Trunks produced the capsule with the baby bag, which he opened, and Vegeta fished out a baby bottle, unscrewed the cap and cracked the last can of Guinness.

'Really?' said Bulma, but didn't stop him.

'I will give her only a little to ease her retching,' he said. 'I don't see how we have any other option right now.'

Trunks made no comment as his father poured a couple of fingers of stout into his sister's bottle and screwed the lid back on.

'She probably won't drink it anyway,' said Bulma.

'Yeah, it tastes horrible,' said Trunks, swigging from his own can again. 'She'll spit it out.'

Bra's little hands clamped onto the offered bottle in a death grip and she tipped it back, head against Trunks as her throat worked, sucking the bottle dry in moments.

'Oh jeez,' said Bulma. 'How thirsty is that poor girl?'

Like magic, Bra tears were halted. She lowered the bottle and waved it about, banging it on Trunks's knee. 'Wawa! Wawa! Maw wawa!'

'More?' said Bulma.

She and Vegeta exchanged a glance.

'Don't look at me,' said Vegeta. 'I don't know how much beer you can give a baby, Saiyan _or_ human.'

'I think the answer is _none_, especially if you want to keep social services from taking them away.' Bulma shook her head, then did some quick calculations based on body weight. 'You put about fifty mils in there, right?'

'Right.'

'Well another forty mils and she'd still be under the legal driving limit.'

Trunks sniggered. 'Are you going to get Bra to pilot us home?'

'It's an unusual standard to pick for a one year old babe,' Vegeta said, smirking in amusement.

'This is not funny, guys!' said Bulma, pouring a little more beer into the bottle. 'I'm using that as a measure, because I don't want to get my baby drunk!'

Trunks giggled again and upended his can to get the last from it. 'Is it okay if you get me drunk?'

'_No!_'

'I can't believe that the first day I get to drink a beer is also the first day _Bra_ gets to drink beer!' said Trunks. 'Ha! Wait till I tell the guys at school about this!'

'No! You can't tell anyone about this! Do _you_ want to be taken away by social services? No!'

'Well, can I tell them that you got arrested?'

Bulma felt an electric bolt of alarm go through her. That was all she needed! Most of the parents of Trunks's school mates already thought she was a reckless influence on Trunks. 'Trunks, you are not breathing a word of any of this to anyone!'

Bulma's attention was recalled to Bra, as the little girl had crawled over and hauled herself to standing to grab the bottle from her.

'Woah!' said Bulma, releasing the bottle to Bra, who fell back onto her bottom, drinking happily and greedily. Was it natural for a baby to be so keen to get on the black milk of Ireland? Bulma put her head in her hand, amused despite her dismay and not wanting Trunks to see it.

'What are we raising?' she asked Vegeta quietly.

'A little monster, by all signs.'

When she finished that too and held it up to Bulma again, saying 'Maw!'

'No, little monster,' said Vegeta, picking her up. 'I'm taking you back to the hoverjet. And if there's no water there, I'm taking you into town.' Bulma offered him the baby carrier, but he gave it his usual haughty dismissal, so she packed up with the baby bag and slipped the capsule in his back pocket. Still thirsty and not wanting to leave evidence, she drank some more of the can they'd opened for Bra and then passed the rest to Vegeta. He stood there, head back, sculling beer with the baby in his other arm, and when it was empty he passed the can to Bra to play with and she immediately upended it over her mouth, hopeful for more. The empty kegs and signage for RTDs in the background really set the scene.

'What an image,' observed Bulma, and then to her horror she heard a camera click behind her. She turned, but it was only Trunks with his phone camera. He was chuckling.

'Trunks!'

'Just think how good this'll look on the wall at her twenty-first birthday!' he said.

'No one is going to see that photo, so delete it right now!'

'Aw, Mom!'

While he was distracted doing that, she whipped her own phone out and snapped a photo of Vegeta and the baby for herself. He gave her a dark smirk and she came over to kiss him quickly goodbye. 'For my personal collection,' she told him with a grin. 'See you soon.'

'Try and stay out of trouble – I won't be there to act as your bodyguard next time.'

'Yes, _Dad_,' she mocked him.

They walked out of the alleyway between marquees together, back towards the crowds and the noise before going their separate ways. Bulma grabbed Vegeta's shoulder just before he turned to head back towards the road.

She never imagined she'd give beer to her baby. That seemed such an industrial-era, desperate, tenement-house-wife thing to do. 'Vegeta, are we the worst parents ever?'

He appeared to consider it seriously.

'No.' And that was all he said before he strode away, baby on his shoulder waving a Guinness can.

_Well, I suppose I did phrase the question to have a very obvious answer_, she mused.

Trunks, rushing ahead, turned back to yell at her.

'Hurry up, Mom! I want to get to the front of the mosh pit before they start playing the first song!'

* * *

_Author's Note: This is based on a real life incident that happened to me. It is the story of my first beer! Yes, my parents gave me Guinness at one year of age, also on a hot day at a festival, although it was a garden festival, not a musical one. And my brother was only 12. And actually, they didn't go to the lengths that Bulma did to find me something non-alcoholic, and my Dad has never been as cool as Vegeta, or even cool at all (I've seen pictures, so I know). My mum was a fox though._

_Thanks Again to Adli for betaing!_


End file.
